Jericho ~ Present
“HOW’S IT GOIN’, MAN?” I asked Mick as I joined him at the bar. “Maker’s neat,” I told the bartender, then turned to the man who’d become a friend over the last few months.
“Another day, another case filled with bat-shit crazy people,” Mick replied with a grin before taking a drink of his Guinness.
Mick was a PI and often dealt with the kind of people I’d grown up with, and, yeah, bat-shit crazy about covered it.
“Can you believe those two?” I asked, tilting my head toward Jackson and Millie, who were currently slow dancing in the middle of the bar. Led Zeppelin was on the jukebox and they were the only ones out there, but they were oblivious.
“Yeah, good for him after that waste of space he was married to before. It’s a relief to see two decent people making it work, saves me from getting too cynical,” he replied.
“Shit, you’re the most cynical bastard I’ve ever met,” I countered with a grin, but Mick just chuckled.
“Ain’t that the truth.”
I was about to follow Mick back to the group when I saw Natasha walking my way. I leaned back against the bar, trying to look casual as I watched her.
Beautiful as ever, her bright-red bob swayed around her face as she walked. Her makeup was smoky, and she was wearing a little black dress that showcased her body in an amazing way. A flood of memories assaulted me as she moved, eyes locked on mine, neither of us breaking contact.
“Hi,” she said softly, her voice slightly rough, as if our little eye play had affected her as much as it affected me.
“Natasha,” I said in greeting, dipping my chin slightly. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Oh, uh, we have pitchers at the table,” she said, looking back over her shoulder.
I followed her gaze and saw that her sister, Dru, was watching us like a hawk.
“Beer?” I asked, memories swirling. “Did you develop a taste for it? I’m sure they have some Pinot Grigio behind the bar . . .”
Natasha flushed.
Yes, I remember everything, I thought.
“That sounds good,” Natasha said, taking a deep breath before crossing to the bar and sitting on a stool. She surprised me when she nodded to the stool next to her.
Another olive branch . . . What would she think if she knew I wanted the whole damn tree?
I signaled to the bartender and took the offered seat.
“So,” I began, turning my head slightly, so I could see her out of my periphery. “You know there’s more to talk about . . .”
“I know,” she said quickly, cutting me off, “but can tonight be about Millie and Jackson, about friends . . . about getting reacquainted? Please?”
Never having been able to deny Natasha anything, I replied, “Of course.”
After a few beats, Natasha’s wine arrived and she cupped the goblet and said, “Prime Beef is amazing, Jericho. Truly. It’s exactly as I’d always pictured it.”
I grinned, happy that she thought so.
“Thanks, Hector and I worked hard to make my vision a reality, and really, without his expertise in the kitchen, Prime Beef wouldn’t be half of what it is.”
“Hector? From when you were younger?” Natasha asked, and once again I was reminded of how much she knew about me.
“Yes. I got in touch with him before graduation and he had just started Le Cordon Bleu. Once I heard that, we started spit-balling ideas and came up with the plan to open Prime Beef together. We agreed on almost everything, the theme, the ambience, the food . . .”
“Almost everything?” she prodded. It was one of my favorite things about her, the way she paid attention, truly listening when I, or anyone, spoke. When she was with you, you knew you had one hundred percent of Natasha’s focus.
It was a rare thing.
Although, in that moment, I found that I wished she hadn’t caught that little detail. It was nice talking to her again, just hanging out, without the weight of the past. Without the questions. Without the reminder that she was no longer mine.
“Uh, yeah, the location . . . We disagreed about where to open it,” I said softly, biting back a chuckle when she lifted her glass and took a big gulp. “Hector wanted to be in the city.”
I saw by the look on her face that she regretted asking as well, regretted the fact that the easy, catching-up phase of this conversation was over.
“And you . . . ?” Natasha asked, although I could see the answer in her eyes.
“I came here for you,” I admitted. When her eyes closed, I continued, “At least initially . . . you’re what brought me here. But, when I saw the town, met the people, and looked at properties, I fell in love with the place. It’s everything I never had growing up, and I completely fell in love with it.”
Natasha nodded, understanding how I’d longed for something different than what I’d grown up with.
“And, Hector, is he okay with it now?” she asked, avoiding my confession.
“Yeah,” I replied with a chuckle. “He loves it, actually. He’s got his favorite fishing hole, loves the farmer’s market, and has a great team in the kitchen.”
Before Natasha could say anything else, Dru walked up behind us.
“Hey,” she began, then caught herself and said almost kindly, “Hey, Jericho,” before turning to her sister. “Millie wants us to play the Elvis Trivia Game with her.”
Natasha groaned dramatically, causing me to chuckle.
“Seriously, again? Do we have to?” Natasha whined.
“It’s her night,” Dru offered.
“Hers and Jackson’s, I’m sure he doesn’t want to play Elvis Trivia.”
“No, but he’d be all for Pride & Prejudice Trivia,” Dru said with a laugh, and, yup, that was completely accurate. “But alas, the guys are playing pool.”
“Jericho, you in?” Mick shouted from across the bar.
“Guess that’s my cue,” I said, hopping off the stool to get to the pool table before I got wrangled into Elvis trivia. “It was nice talking to you,” I added sincerely.
“You, too,” Natasha said with a small smile.
And as we walked in opposite directions, we kept our eyes on each other, just for a moment, and my hope of winning her back grew just a little brighter.